Where The Love Light Gleams
by miladylen
Summary: Three little Christmas stories, every one set in a different reality/realm.
1. Finding Home

**Outlaw Bandit**

* * *

The snow fell heavily like cinders after the fire has died out, like the remaining droplets after the unending storm. The air was damp, misty flakes sticking to a dark furred cloak in a coat of white, tenebrous hair hidden inside the hood, helping the figure meld into the scenery, disappear into the thick forest, the ivory crystals covering her tracks almost as soon as she'd step off. As if she wasn't there, as if she'd never been.

Deep into the woods she belonged like she'd been born to it. To the rain's delectable nectar, the birds' lullaby, and the wind's loving embrace. Perhaps she had, perhaps only those dreams proved true.

Never had she felt out of place here as she did among people. She'd known solitude all her life, a choice she'd gladly made when a choice had been given, but that she felt most keenly on the midwinter festival. When months of hard labour were rewarded with weeklong festivities before the cold became too biting and the rations too scarce.

She'd never partaken in the celebration, no one had shown her how, certainly no one in the orphanage. But she remembered walking along the village — stealing away once the sisters were asleep — spying through the chilled windows the small trees brought under roofs, the leaves adorning doorways and windowsills, and the hollies and ivies hanging from wooden beams and wrapped around candlesticks. She remembered how people would feast on geese and venison, many cheeses and spirits.

She had longed for it, in the beginning, had asked to be allowed to visit the square and markets, only to receive cruel stings in response.

She hadn't gotten a close enough glance until she'd worked at the palace. And even then, she hadn't been allowed to join the royals and nobles, or even the villagers visiting in the earliest days of the festival when the King's generosity was unwontedly high. But she had seen plenty. Had heard the whisperings of bells, swinging in such ways as to make the most divine sounds, sometimes lulling, sometimes cheering everyone to rise to their feet and start dancing in whichever direction. Had smelt delicious aromas from the kitchen — tantalizingly close to her own quarters — every night something new and unexpected.

She had seen enough of the halls and ballrooms while making sure everything stayed clean and fresh to try and recreate her own winter enchantment even in considerably smaller accommodations.

She would collect berries and tie them up by their branches with leaves and place them on the ceiling, over her cot, over the hearth, some outside the entrance. She'd take pinecones off the ground and sow into them, hang them on the evergreen tree she'd set inside. She would trade wild meat for milk and eggs, and spices from sea merchants, and add something stronger to the warm beverage — sherry was a luxury she'd discovered from Princess Snow, as she had been titled then, but some old rum a captain had been charitable enough to offer would do just as well.

For all the appearance of jubilation, times had been anything but merry.

.

But now, now the festival was a joyous occasion.

On the night of the winter solstice, the men carried an enormous tree in the middle of the camp, on which hung different fruits to last them through the week. An inviting feast of boar, beef, partridges, cheese and bread, wine and ale, as well as her milk punch — a favourite among topers — was set up by the fire. Music played, flutes and mandolins, to which men sung and danced and, in predictable fashion, spilled drinks.

No one fretted over waste or starvation. For a few days, worries were banished.

And she sat, in newly knitted socks, — many others she'd made hidden away from the band — her mug untouched, waiting for the men to exhaust themselves, waiting for him to retreat to their tent, — _theirs_ , no longer just hers — waiting to be in the comfort of silken furs and gentle skin, waiting, though presents were for the first day of the new year, to give him his gift.

A single pair of wee little socks.


	2. Creating Home

**Non-magical AU**

* * *

She was nervously running around making sure that all was ready and spotless, that all her embarrassing stuffed toys were hidden under the bed, toilets were clean, laundry basket was empty, and gifts were well concealed. Henry, on the other hand, couldn't have been more ecstatic.

She had feared he would be apprehensive about this new arrangement, having been just the two of them for as long as he could remember — Daniel's only Christmas spent with his family something Henry couldn't recall, though he'd certainly perused the photo albums and home videos enough times — but the holiday cheer had manifested itself early this year once he'd learned of their very special guests.

She had never planned a grand affair. Nothing more extravagant than the usual secret placing of the gifts under the tree after midnight, taking a few bites out of the homemade cookies her son had proudly helped her with, and spilling the milk Santa was supposed to drink in the sink. Christmas morning was then spent trying out new games and toys while watching the famed parade on TV. Just a quiet, lazy day of staying in pajamas — a new set every year in their stockings — arguing about who had undergone the most transformation, Mr. Grinch or Scrooge.

Robin's holidays, however, were vastly different. He'd told her how every year his friend would host a party on Christmas Eve. Carols would play loudly while the children decorated the tree and the adults sat back sipping liquor and shouting warnings about the fragility of the ornaments. Once they were finished, their parents would subtly send the kids to play in the bedroom while the designated Santa hurried to get in costume and put all the gifts in a garbage bag. The doorbell would ring and the kids would rush down to be the first to welcome Santa.

They wouldn't have to wait until the sun came out to open presents. Santa would distribute them one by one, but not without payment. A story or a song — or something sweet if John was on duty — in exchange. Robin's son, he'd told her, would prepare his tale a month in advance.

A simple Christmas had been enough for Henry, but would Roland be satisfied? When Robin had suggested they do it at her house, he'd insisted Roland would love it no matter what, but Regina still fretted.

But, when Roland came barging through the door, it seemed the toddler was just as excited as Henry about the novelty. He hugged her first and then proceeded to show her son his oversized sweater with a snowman that would light up when the button on his sleeve was pushed. Once the boys were well on their way up to Henry's room, Regina turned to Robin who hadn't taken his eyes off her, if only to greet Henry and tell Roland to remove his shoes before running every which way.

Robin put his trays of food on her counter and then pulled her in his arms in greeting. His nose was cold on her cheek and his coat dusted in snow, but she'd never felt so warm. And when he spoke of how stunning she looked — despite her waves being ruined by the slight sweat her nerves had worked up and the discernible creases in her dress — her cheeks flamed and she basked in the heat as she kissed him in response.

They had to part when their sons sprinted back down, but not before Robin's coat ended up on the floor and Regina's lips were free of paint. Roland had forgotten his fascination with Henry's toys once the older boy had told him of the activity his mother had planned. Their tree had already been decorated two weeks ago, but Regina had suggested they make chocolate treats they would then wrap and hang on the tree.

They all set out to make small brownie bites right away so they would have enough time to cool. Everyone was eager to help, especially Roland, even if Regina had to keep a close eye on him and make sure he didn't add too much sugar to the butter, eggs, and vanilla. After the cocoa, flour, and just a hint of salt and baking powder were mixed in, Robin spread the batter evenly into the pan, with Henry carefully directing his movements and, to Regina's delight, Robin played along perfectly, despite being quite the expert himself in the kitchen.

The boys occupied themselves with some of Henry's comics for twenty minutes while Regina and Robin opened a bottle of wine and made plans for the rest of the week; building a snowman in her backyard tomorrow, ice-skating the next day, and maybe shopping for hockey gear for Roland.

A few minutes before the brownies would be finished, they moved on to the frosting. Henry stirred the butter, cocoa, vanilla, the sugar Roland happily dropped into the blend, and Regina's special addition, honey. The brownies were frosted and left to cool for an hour.

Meanwhile, Henry had challenged Robin to game of chess and Regina had provided Roland with coloring pencils. Once they had finally wrapped and hung up all the candy, she sent the boys upstairs to change into pajamas and pick a movie for them all to watch. She left Robin to refill her glass while she went into the basement with the pretext of gathering more blankets.

When she came back up, the doorbell had just rung and Robin was frowning confusedly at who it could be at this hour, on this night. The boys were halfway down the stairs when they heard Santa's merry greeting. Roland ran to give him a hug and Santa returned it like he was embracing an old friend. Henry had a pleased look on his face and Robin was looking at her, first in surprise, and soon with tremendous affection.

Henry led his teacher to the couch and the man thanked him with a wink. Archie played the role of Santa beautifully, seeming very interested to hear the boys' stories, what they had asked for, and their wishes for the new year. She was glad to see that Roland was enjoying himself immensely.

She felt warm hands on her waist and strong arms wrapping themselves tight around her middle and pulling her back until she was safely resting on his chest, listening to his wild beating heart. She shivered at his lips whispering on her neck, "Thank you so much," before leaving a lingering kiss.

She turned, "We didn't invite you to join in on Henry's and my Christmas, we wanted to create our own. All of ours." Robin kissed her then, with one hand on her back and the other in her hair, softly, not with the intensity she craved, but with the promise of more once they'd find themselves alone. Her forehead left his reluctantly and the rest of the hour was spent in his arms, gently swaying to their children's songs and Santa's accompanying harmonica.

.

They let the kids play with their presents, many toys for Roland and board games and books for Henry, until they finally all settled down on multiple blankets, resting against the couch with cups of hot cocoa in hand to watch the Grinch's heart grow.

By the end of the movie, both boys were asleep. Regina woke up her son, whispering he'd be more comfortable in his bed and Robin picked up a slumbering Roland in his arms and laid him down gently on the mattress in Henry's room.

Back in the living room, Regina turned on soft Christmas music, hoping to drown out their footsteps. Most presents had been given by Santa but, unbeknownst to Roland, a few were still hidden in her closet, waiting for the kids' soft snores. Robin and Regina quietly brought down the gifts and neatly placed them under the tree. As she was arranging a rather large gift for Roland — a hockey stick, she guessed, already impatient to witness the joy on the boy's face — a candy wrapper fell from the tree. She picked it up intending to put it back when she noticed how strangely light it was. It was empty.

Getting up and taking a step back, she realized the wrappers were all still on the tree, but the chocolate had mysteriously disappeared. She had specifically told the boys the chocolate was to be eaten tomorrow, but it seemed they had had other ideas. She and Robin had kept moving around during the film, changing into pajamas themselves, making the hot and smooth beverages, cleaning up the paper Santa's presents had been wrapped in, sitting in the corner of the couch, behind the boys where they could privately steal sweet kisses. Had they been so lost in each other's gazes they had failed to notice their boys sneakily eating the treats?

"Is there none left?" Robin asked as he came up behind her. When she sighed her negation, he went around the tree looking to see if they had missed any.

He came out from behind the tree then, triumphant, with one purple candy wrapper in hand, no attempts to hide his intention. "I see where your son gets it from," she teased. "I told you those are meant for tomorrow," she said, her voice lacking the scolding she'd intended.

"I know," he answered sweetly, "and I agree," as he took the few steps separating them and placed one hand on her hip and the other, while still holding the candy, under her chin, "but since it is after midnight, I don't think I'm breaking any rules, do you?"

But instead of unwrapping the chocolate and eating it himself, he handed her the wrapped candy with a much too proud grin on his face… but his eyes were more cautions, almost… nervous.

She chuckled at his whispered Open it, but the sound caught in her throat at the feel of cold metal on her palm. The Christmas music still playing softly became a distant echo, her legs couldn't support her any longer, and she fell to her knees just as he did.

They had known each other less than a year, had met at Mary Margaret's New Year's party last year, had flirted, he'd not waited days to contact her, hadn't played down how much he liked her. They'd had a great first date, then a second, and a third, and before she knew it, she went from casually seeing someone to already being very much in danger of falling in love, all in the span of a few weeks. Or was it that time seemed to soar when they were together?

"Regina," he began, taking her hands in his, while she was still staring intently at the three-stone diamond ring, "I know we haven't been together long, that we started this relationship less than a year ago, but it seems I've known you for far longer. I knew you the first time Dave told me about his girlfriend's nerdy old roommate going through a foreign films phase. I knew you when Belle mentioned the sweet boy who visited her library weekly with his stunning mother. I knew you when Ruby told me how her favorite customer had introduced her to said librarian. All those years we've been part of each other's lives without even knowing it, and now I would like nothing more than for our lives to be entwined forever."

She looked back up into his dazzling eyes, seeing tears that, no doubt, reflected hers as well. Yes, they hadn't been together long. And, in that time, she'd never wondered what the future held. Not because it was too soon or too scary to think of such things. But because she'd always known. He was her future. So his Will you marry me? wasn't answered with a yes or a no, but rather with an eager When?


	3. Coming Home

**I know this is three months too late, but here is the final part of this little Christmas fic.**

 **Follows canon, including season 6a. Established relationship between Regina x wish!Robin.**

* * *

Whenever she saw him, she couldn't stop the tingling in her arms, the numbness at the tips of her fingers, the heat spreading to her skin, bubbling to the surface and melting every worry she'd ever had about being with him. It felt wonderful—

for however short a time.

Because, while in some ways, they were already ten steps ahead (it seemed they had started their relationship weeks, months, earlier, which might have been technically true, for her), in many ways, being with Robin, with _this_ Robin, was as new for her as it was for him. They were still getting to know each other. And, at the same time, they were already a family.

Some days were good and others were bad. Some days he reminded her of her soulmate and other days he was still a stranger. Some days he was affectionate and couldn't stay away from her and other days he seemed distant and unsure of what role he played in her life.

Sometimes he did things, unconsciously, that touched her heart and made it glow red with love and hope for their future. Things that reminded Regina of the Robin she fell in love with.

 _Her_ Robin.

When he kissed her cheek in the morning when she woke up to find him trying to handle breakfast. When he read his tale in Henry's storybook and skimmed hers and still greeted her with a smile and a tender kiss, as if none of that mattered, as if the past couldn't change the here and now. When he patted Henry's shoulder when he'd come home with a good grade. When she spied him singing to Robyn. When he spent too long admiring her before she left for work. When she joined him in the shower and he patiently massaged the tension out of her shoulders and washed the glass out of her hair—

and an almost automatic smile pulled on her lips, her hands reached out of their own accord, and her eyes sought the ever-present loving look he had when he saw her.

The one Robin used to have.

But that feeling was short lived. Which was ridiculous. She should be happy that he was back. She _was_ happy.

She was _happy_.

She no longer had to think of him only in terms of the love she had lost. Around town, he was no longer referred to as the Mayor's boyfriend who died. Or that man crazy enough to court the Evil Queen.

(How could he not get burned?)

He was back now. Somehow, by some miracle or wish upon a star, she had him back. She shouldn't still be experiencing his loss.

But she was. She was happy to see him, but then she was still losing him. Everyday.

Every time she ordered a whiskey at Granny's and looked next to her only to realize he didn't understand the significance. Every time she woke up from nightmares and he looked uncertainly at her, not quite knowing whether he should comfort her, whether he was allowed to. Every time they were left alone and she missed the way he would take advantage of every opportunity to touch her, anywhere, just to let her know how lovely she was in his eyes.

Every time she reached for his hand and he startled, unused to her affections, even if only for a second, before grasping hers tightly. That second was enough.

Everything they'd ever shared was lost to him. Was lost to her too.

She should be glad he didn't remember. Had no memories of losing Marian. Didn't tense up as he used to when Zelena brought Robyn by. Didn't retreat into himself when he stopped by her office with lunch because of memories of how he'd died to protect her. He was spared that much at least.

Because if he remembered, he wouldn't be as caring as he'd become in the short weeks he'd known her. He'd remember how she was responsible for him losing his wife — and his son, his mother — and becoming at the mercy of a vengeful sibling's deceit. She was the reason he died. Leaving two children behind. Leaving her son without a childhood hero and his men without the leader who had inspired them and pulled them out of a dishonorable existence.

But, still, she missed him. The real him.

It was hardest on Roland. Not that Robin wasn't attentive, he _was_. He was most eager to be the father Roland needed. The father he deserved. Robin was affectionate, he listened, he cuddled, told stories, soothed scrapes, and made laughs. But they had lost their rhythm, that camaraderie that made father and son as thick as thieves. He didn't remember the lullabies he used to sing to him or the leaves he used to draw on his wrist whenever the boy was scared (because the forest was safe and, wherever he went, it would always protect him). But Roland, despite it all, was still following him around everywhere he went. During the first few weeks of school, they couldn't leave him for all the crying. Even now, when Roland was confused by this man who looked so much like his father, he still never wanted them to leave the house without him. Lest they never came back.

Robin was saddened at the thought that his son was more comfortable with his Merry Men than with him. She had left a mirror with them in the Enchanted Forest that connected to any one in her home. They could call whenever they wanted to see Roland or Robyn, and Roland joyfully communicated with them more often than not.

Robyn, for her part, was only responding to her father's voice and didn't seem to notice any difference. She adored him. She adored him so much that if he played with or pecked anyone else, she would start wailing until he gave her the attention she demanded.

If nothing else, she was glad the baby had her father back.

Even if not entirely.

But her father was in there somewhere. Henry had been right and, if Gold was to be believed, Robin's soul hadn't been destroyed, but simply cursed by Hades' weapon. Doomed to float on and on, never resting, never finding peace.

Only when a wish created a physical manifestation of him, had his soul latched on to a host.

But a wish was never as rewarding as it pretended to be.

Because it was difficult to be around him. It was difficult when he did something that reminded her of her Robin. It was difficult when he did something entirely new. And it was most difficult when he did something that unexpectedly made her appreciate him long enough to forget he actually was a version of someone else.

He was rough where Robin had been gentle, or short-fused where Robin had been patient. Robin had tolerated her anger, whereas he matched it. But he was also daring where Robin had been cautious, and his eyes held humor where Robin's held pain and sorrow. He didn't know loss as Robin had. Maybe that's why on certain days, when it got to be too much for her, when Daniel or her father or even her mother haunted her memories, he didn't know what to do, wasn't able to offer comfort. Though he tried.

He always tried.

And she loved him for it.

He might not be someone who knew loss as she did or who'd been well versed in second chances to be willing to offer it even to her, but he was someone who saw her darkness in a way Robin never could. Robin had understood, he had forgiven it and even learned to love it. But he couldn't have related to it as well. He had left his past behind before the darkness had truly taken hold of him as it had of her.

But this version of Robin had succumbed to it. Entirely. He had embraced it and hadn't let go until he met a woman, a stranger, who made him believe in possibilities and dragged him to a strange land promising him new beginnings. And he had followed. He had felt something, a connection strong enough to take the leap.

Yes, it sometimes felt as if she would never stop mourning losing one only to gain another. But Robin, even when cursed, would always be able to reach her heart and she believed, in time, it wouldn't hurt. It would be easy to love him, as he was, and not feel guilty about it.

.

Before he died, she'd thought about what it would be like to spend Christmas with Robin. His first Christmas in Storybrooke. For him to experience all the cheer and oppressive happiness the way they had been denied during the year they spent in the Enchanted Forest because of their impending doom. She foolishly thought that when they came back from the Underworld things would settle. After facing purgatory and the most feared deity, what else could stop them from enjoying every moment they spent together? After embarking upon the most dangerous and reckless mission of all, and surviving, she'd never considered they wouldn't even get one more day together. She hadn't been prepared.

Yet another thing she envied Emma. Even when Emma thought she'd said goodbye to her true love, at least she'd seen it coming. At least she'd tried every thing she possibly could to get him back. Regina hadn't. She hadn't been able to stop it. And she thought she'd never be able to reverse it.

Until she saw him again.

And now Christmas was here and she had the chance to show it all to him. The holiday was as new to him as it had been to Robin. That excitement she'd been looking forward to — for him and the kids, never for herself — was there every day. And it caught Robin. He wanted to experience all of it. He gladly took the boys to the woods to come back with a tree, he excitedly looked up how to make ornaments — never mind that she already had a boxful — and a gingerbread house. He decorated her mansion with gold and white garlands, candy canes, and springs of holly and mistletoe in every entryway.

It was difficult to mourn what she'd lost when she got more than glimpses of it.

Roland could see it too. When in the past few weeks he'd been anxious around Robin, now he seemed over the moon. Of course all the sugary treats helped, but something had changed. Maybe it was all the talk of Christmas magic and miracles she always heard this time of year. Roland was definitely on his way to being a believer.

Henry was a wise mentor in that regard. He had shown Roland all the required movies one watched during the holidays. They had built a snowman in the park and even had a snowball fight — instigated by Robin, naturally. Henry had even shown Roland how to write his first letter to Santa and how to mail it himself.

 _What did you ask Santa?_ she'd inquired. But a wish wouldn't come true if spoken out loud. Henry had taught him well.

The young boy was jubilant come Christmas morning, hopping in place, impatiently waiting his turn while Henry opened his gift from Robin. A typewriter. He smiled wildly and threw his arms around Robin while Roland looked on confusedly, not understanding how Henry's new game was played. But he was quickly distracted when Regina, while holding a fussy Robyn wearing her brand new ladybug pajamas, handed him the smallest present under the tree.

Roland rapidly tore through the paper to find a triangular box with a tiny wooden house inside, and at the bottom of the box was a piece of paper with a similar model drawn on it. A model for a tree house. A tree house, which, Roland was told when he looked up at his father, they would all build together right in their backyard. Because Roland deserved a real piece of the forest. A little bit of their old home in their new one.

Roland screamed while clapping his hands and ran into Robin's waiting, eager arms. He had gotten the best gift. Because as Robin stroked his son's curls and kissed his forehead, a misty breeze emanated from his lips and, absorbing all of the room's colors, spread to the entire house.

Robin looked up at her in wonder and she smiled with tears in her eyes because that look wasn't one she'd thought she'd see again.

"I knew those mean boys were lying. Santa is real, he brought back my Papa!"

With Roland still in his arms, Robin reached for her and their hands met and held onto each other, refusing to be separated again. When he pulled her closer and his lips met hers, barely a brush, only a promise, Robyn started crying and her family laughed as they peppered the little girl in kisses.

Her family. Her world.

A world which included Robin, _all_ of him.

All his memories, as made up as they might have been, were still real to him. The man he had been under his curse would always remain a part of him. He was both.

How blessed was she that there was so much of him to love.


End file.
